The Wayfarer's Manifesto
by TheGyroCaptain
Summary: Nearly a decade after their last encounter, Ash reestablishes the former Kanto trio in order to complete a highly secretive, highly unusual mission set out by Professor Oak. Over the course of their journey, the group members slowly deteriorate, witnessing the downfall of their minds as they detach themselves from society and spiral into insanity. Language, Mature Themes, Violence.
1. Chapter 1

**The Wayfarer's Manifesto**

* * *

Nearly a decade after their last encounter, Ash reestablishes the former Kanto trio in order to complete a highly secretive, highly unusual mission set out by Professor Oak. Over the course of the journey, the group members slowly deteriorate, witnessing the downfall of their minds as they detach themselves from society and spiral into insanity. Language, Mature Themes, Violence, Drug Use.

This fic is an infusion of the Pokemon characters and setting into the story told through _Apocalypse Now_ and_ Heart Of Darkness_, including their reoccurring themes of insanity, escaping from society, the duality of human nature, and the vagueness of morality. Certain scenes will bare similarities. Because of the nature of this fic, it is relatively AU, although I've tried to avoid abandoning the core essence of the series, while making it a simply plotted, description-heavy vehicle for postmodern themes. It's a personal experiment of mine, and I thought I would give back to a community that has given me a lot over the years. My main goal with this fic is to have fun.

I in no way own any part of Pokemon, Oldsmobile and GM Motors, Coke-Cola, Pall Mall, any of the music I embed into the fanfiction, and/or any other entities I may have missed.

I would like to specifically recognize and recommend Chris Fischer's _Of Mice and Mayhem_ of the Chip N' Dale Rescue Rangers fandom, and The Apothecary's _Seasons Without Sun _of the Bones fandom, as the two greatest and most memorable fanfictions I have ever read. Unfortunately, the former is rather difficult to get a hold of online, and the later is impossible, in addition to having been abandoned before its completion.

For a Pokemon recommendation, Some Enchanted Evening's _Five Days Of Midnight_ is an excellent fic, and likely the most well written I've seen in the community.

Thank you for taking the time to read, any feedback is welcome.

* * *

**CHAPTER I**

The ceiling fan was the first thing he saw, the menacing blade slowly revolving, around, and around, and around, and around, still blurry in his eyes. The air was the first thing he heard, pushed and manipulated by the fan, but he couldn't feel it; only the temperature. The heat was the first thing he felt, like the air had been sucked out of the world with a giant vacuum, only to be replaced with stale, stagnant humidity, heavy in his lungs, his mouth. The entirety of his room was dense, like a transparent fog that couldn't be seen, only perceived. The first thing he tasted was the sweat, built up on his lips, beads rolling down his entire body. The first thing he smelled was indifference. Indifference was not a scent; one could not identify a smell distinctly as "indifference". But Ash could.

The scent of indifference hung in the air, clinging to the cloaking heat and stifling humidity, acting on its own accord as the one overriding factor that prevented him from moving, from defying the others. It took an uncertain amount of time, but a whisp of breeze forced its way into the room from the open window, a direct pathway to the ocean. The tiny draft was enough to truly awaken Ash not only from the spell of sleep, but also the spell of indifference. He rose unceremoniously.

There was nothing on the bed. No blankets, no sheets, no pillows. They were all too hot, and even without them, there was still the heat, everywhere. Heat and sweat. The room itself was almost as bare as the bed. The walls, painted light brown, were empty of posters and pictures. Trinkets, awards, and objects were either non-existent or hidden away in the dresser, nightstand, or closet. The room was essentially a spare room, lifeless and naked. A lone coffee mug sat on the bedside, beside an older alarm clock. When Ash picked up the mug, he could see his eye reflected in the bottom, empty.

He left his room to shower, only clad in briefs.

* * *

When Ash returned to his room, the clock radio was playing, midway through Stevie Wonder's _Do Yourself a Favor_. After clothing himself in a black t-shirt and pair of jeans, he scanned the room, finding his surroundings surreal. His own room was more like a hotel room than a personal expression of himself. He barely spent time in it, except to sleep, and in that way, it was a tool, a utilitarian extension. The only object in the entire room that didn't exist solely to serve its purpose was the clock, whose display was stuck on a flashing "55:4", the LED display no longer working properly. Not only that, but the tuning dial was broken, locked to a radio station that Ash didn't particularly enjoy, named something like "Super Hits of the Seventies", which played around ten o'clock in the morning, still operating on the radio alarm to this day. He still remembered the time, eight years or so ago, one of the last instances Misty had been visiting Pallet, she had been playing with the radio, accidently getting the tuner stuck on the station. The LED had frozen not too long after that. Ash hadn't the motivation to unplug it or replace the whole clock. He had a watch.

Ash felt the flashing light reflect off his eyes as he stared at it. On, off. On, off. He could already feel the sweat on his neck and back again; it had to have been 30, 40 degrees Celsius out, even more in the encapsulated room. It had been a strange morning, far stranger than normal. It was at this moment that Ash realized Pikachu's presence was missing. Eyes narrowing in an expression of recollection and inquisition, he turned to leave his room, deciding that Pikachu had likely gone downstairs to get food.

Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, Ash turned to the right and saw his mother and Professor Oak conversing in the kitchen at a small wooden table, Pikachu underneath, sniffing out crumbs of some snack his mother had baked to go with the tea the two adults were both enjoying. A light haze of cigarette smoke filled the room, a habit that Ash's mother had taken up years ago. The older woman, hair greyed, clothes disheveled, but not unkept, worn on her body as only a mother could wear them, noticed the new presence first, greeting him with a warm smile and a "good morning", as she drew her son into a quick hug. Professor Oak rotated in his chair so that he faced Ash, who accepted his mother's greeting, and an offer for a cup of Earl Grey tea.

"How'd you sleep, honey?"

"Not too bad. It was really humid last night," Ash noticed the Professor still wore his signature lab coat, even in the intense heat, although beads of sweat were running down his head. In fact, there was something odd about the Professor this visit; he hadn't removed his coat or even his shoes. Ash believed this to be entirely business, and his suspicion was confirmed when the professor first spoke.

"Delia, while we did have a wonderful talk – and I'd like to sincerely thank you for the excellent tea – the true nature of my visit was to discuss a matter with Ash"

Ash glanced up from his mug at the statement, this action presenting his surprise more clearly than the actual expression on his face, one of placid awareness. His line of sight slowly waned back down to the mug in his hand. After taking a sip of the tea, he glanced up again to speak.

"Where would you like to talk?"

"My lab would be preferable. I take it you aren't busy with anything this morning."

Ash eyed his surroundings pensively, eventually returning to the matter at hand.

"No Professor, I'm completely free."

* * *

Outside, away from the houses and buildings felt much cooler, the ocean breeze wafting through the hamlet. Ash and Oak walked side by side, stirring up bouts of small talk as they headed to the lab. Ash carried his cup of tea in his hand and Pikachu on his shoulder, while Professor Oak carried a brown folder, secured shut with a string and red wax stamp. Ash hadn't noticed that particular object at the house, only becoming aware of its existence when the Professor picked it up while leaving the house. The topics of conversation had been relatively harmless and straightforward until Oak decided to start digging a little deeper.

"Ash, what are you doing now that you've won the Pokémon League Championship?"

Ash glanced sidelong in response to the rather loaded question, narrowing his eyes, aware of the trap.

"Professor, that was nearly eight years ago,"

"It will be eight years ago next month." Oak specified, continuing to push further. "You never answered the question,"

Ash's ironic smirk, devoid of humor, accompanied his response.

"Not too much Professor,"

The conversation broke for a measurable time, Oak salvaging it before the subject could change.

"You were the youngest Champion in measurable league history. There was the media frenzy, the torrent of position offers from the gyms, leagues, even a research facility, if my memory serves me well. You were on top of the world for almost a year, but you just… vanished." A flourish of The Professor's free hand accompanied the word.

"I needed Mt. Silver, you know that, and I've stated my reasoning before. Life had gotten far too complicated. There was an obligation to everything, everyone. Every single person in the world wanted a piece of me, and I wanted nothing to do with them. The only thing I wanted to devote my time to was Pokémon, so I just left. Left everything."

"Six years. Six full years. Your mother got two letters the entire time you were go-"

"Is this what you wanted to speak to me for? To chastise me for my choices? _Warn_ me about my future? Tell me to get a _real_ career?"

Ash's anger built up incrementally after the initial question was asked, but only now had the icy sardonicism punched through. Oak remained composed, although his words began to hit closer to home on Ash with each point he made. Oak abruptly halted his walk, and Ash had to stop and turn around to hear the Professor's next line, which was put forth with a wise fluency, but also a modicum of its own mordancy.

"I want to do none of those things Ash. In fact, I have an offer for you. Not for a position or a _real _career, as you so… eloquently put it. A simple one off job; you could call it a mission."

"A mission?"

Any of Ash's anger dissolved into curious prospect, almost in child-like enthusiasm at the idea. Even Pikachu himself perked up his ears at the offer. Oak began to move once more, Ash falling in step beside him once again.

"We can discuss the prospect in more detail once we get to the lab, if you so wish to,"

Instead of defaulting back to the small talk from the first half of the trip, an electric silence held itself in the air around them. Oak occasionally thumbed at the folder in his hand. Pikachu kneaded its claws into Ash's shoulder, his own anxiousness manifesting itself. Even without knowing a single detail regarding the mission, Ash knew unequivocally that he would be accepting it.

* * *

Brock awoke, eyes opening to a small swarm of children gathered around his bed, at least five or six. Moving his head as if trying to glance past them, he finally succumbed to his crowd of siblings and began with a simple, but slightly exasperated "what".

"We're hungry" The nearest child whined the line, a younger boy with brown hair who peered up at his big brother, hands gripping the sheets to pull himself up closer, as if his own distance from Brock's face was proportionate to the promptness of his breakfast being served.

In one swift motion, Brock swiveled his legs out from under the comforter, his feet touching the cold wood floor as the throng of children dispersed, just enough to give him room to stand up, but still crowded around his legs. As Brock emerged from his bedroom, followed by the others, he saw the oldest sister reading a book on the couch, completely oblivious to her ongoing surroundings; the older brothers were likely outside. Heading towards the kitchen, Brock grabbed the white apron hanging off the oven door, donning it overtop of his pajamas, aware that the children had returned to the games and idle tasks they had been absorbed in before hunger had occupied their minds, seemingly content with their chances of getting food, now that Brock was in the kitchen. In the act of surrendering to his household role, Brock grabbed a knife and began slicing oranges he had retrieved from the fridge.

* * *

"Misty, turn that shit off!"

The feminine cry emanated fiercely, even through the tightly shut (and locked) wooden door that separated Misty's in her room from one of her sisters in the hallway, likely Lily, based on what Misty could hear of the voice. Sitting on the foot of her bed, she glanced up at the cranked record player on her dresser, the vinyl visibly spinning in the mirror, then turned and glared at her door before screaming a defiant, almost childish "No" back, barely audible above the music that reverberated throughout her room.

"We can like, barely hear ourselves think out here!"

"And what would _you_ even need to think about?"

"We're just totally tired of listening to your old music!"

"My music is a million times better than the mindless garbage you guys play all the time"

"Like, whatever, just cut it out, for fuck's sakes."

Misty allowed the record to spin a few more times around the player before her sister interjected again.

"_Now_, Misty"

Throwing herself off of the bed angrily, Misty ripped the needle off the vinyl, causing a ear-wrenching screech to blast from the tower speakers on each side of her dresser, painted a shade of blue that not only matched her dresser, but the wall behind it, and even the carpet. Enraged, she shoved the copy of _Human Racing_ back in its cover, Nik Kershaw's eyes mocking her from their printed surface as she turned the record over to place back on her shelf. Fuming, she wrenched open her door to give her sisters a piece of her mind. She was not in the mood for this.

* * *

Brock was not in the mood for this. He made the household of ten family members, which included Brock, his eight brothers and sisters, with one out on their own, and their elderly father Flint, a rather simple breakfast in comparison to his normal cooking. French toast and assorted sliced fruit should do; besides, Flint loved fruit. Ever since his father had fallen ill a year or so ago, Brock had been expected to not only maintain the household, but care for his father in his ailing health, and run the Pewter City Gym for income.

He hadn't trained his Pokémon in months, let alone gone on any trips or adventures. In fact, the only place Geodude and Sudowoodo had seen in the past while was either the inside of the gym, or the inside of the PokeCenter. Steelix, Crobat, Forretress, and the others had barely been out of their Pokeballs in at least a year, and it had been longer since they had seen a Pokémon battle, due to the stipulation of the Rock-Type gym leader using only Rock-Type Pokémon to battle. To top it off, the Gym itself was under fire from the league administrators over the "necessity of its continuous funding", although at this point, the loss of the gym was the least of Brock's worries.

The household was as much of a mess, with a few of the siblings approaching the age to get their first Pokémon, while Forrest, the oldest sibling besides Brock, had already began his journey out into the world. The house was too small, and was cluttered enough as it was. Flint and Lola had separated only a few years earlier, and although she would likely still feel it her duty to help maintain the household, it wasn't a responsibility Brock wished to burden her with unless absolutely necessary. This didn't stop her from stopping in once a month or so to help out, like she had talked about doing today.

However, the entire situation was getting to the point where asking his mother to take over was the next logical step. Brock couldn't continue this; it was different, easier, when the kids were young, when he wasn't obligated to become something as an adult, when Flint was absent, and not gravely ill. Hell, it'd been almost ten years since he'd seen and travelled with Ash and Misty. Unlike Ash, who had completely fallen off the radar, Brock had tried to keep contact with Misty over the years; phone calls, letters, and the occasional visit when times were tough, but otherwise, contact from not only them, but any outsider was scarce. He didn't have any intimate relationships, was too busy for friends, and was essentially locked into his family commitments indefinitely.

* * *

The clambering footsteps coming down the stairs were heard far before the furious trainer was actually spotted. She took a sharp left from the stairwell and proceeded through the doorway that separated the gym's living quarters with the actual gym.

"Misty, there you are! Don't interrupt us; we're like, about to battle"

As the pool came into Misty's field of view, the first thing she noticed was the opponent, a young boy who couldn't have been older than eight years. He was dressed in a long, colourful basketball jersey that hung off him, red shorts, and a backwards Lake of Rage baseball cap. His tiny, low-leveled Pidgey stood beside him, which must have been his only Pokemon, judging by the lone Pokeball on his belt. From the looks of him, this was likely his first gym challenge, possibly even his first battle ever. Any confidence the kid had when he entered the gym appeared to have faded with the prospect of a spectator. Misty guessed that he was far too young to challenge, and knew her sisters rarely, if ever, checked challengers for their trainer ID cards.

Hoping to somehow reason with her brainless sisters and prevent an unlawful battle, Misty sternly pointed up towards the large "League Rules" sign that resided halfway up the wall opposite the battlefield.

"It explicitly states that 'challengers must be above ten years of age to be eligible for a gym battle'"

The three sisters turned their head, and despite being quite a few feet away, Misty could make out their haughty smirks, and the looks in their eyes that revealed they knew exactly how much they were infuriating Misty.

"Oh, silly, that's like, just a guideline" Daisy patronized, turning to the child. "Besides, you're ten years old, aren't you squirt?

The child's hesitant nod in reply was not believable in the least.

Misty couldn't believe it. The idea that the legacy her parents had left, the Cerulean Gym, run for decades by the Waterflower family, had devolved to this state. Her sisters ran it with blatant incompetence, negative notoriety, and corruption. There was not a single thing Misty could do to change it, not any more.

"Hey Misty, if you like, know better, why don't _you_ just run the gym?"

Misty flared with unprecedented rage, the sadistic words hitting an open wound, her eyes blazing with hurt and anger and her arms flailing as she screamed across the gym.

"You know why, you fucking whores!"

In blind emotion, Misty whipped around and swung at the nearest object, a large white marble pillar. As her fist connected with stone, the tremendous impact echoed through the silent gym, the sisters in wide eyed shock, the child clutching the Pidgey in his arms the entire time.

* * *

"Hello Mom"

"Oh Brock, how are you? How is everyone?"

"Everyone's doing well. Dad's been feeling a bit better"

Brock greeted his mother hesitantly with a one armed hug, his other arm holding the door open for her to enter.

"My word, this house is a mess."

Brock knew what was coming next.

"How do you expect a household to run if it's not clean?"

"Well, the kitchen and bathroom just got cleaned yesterday, and I was going to get to the living room today." Brock looked down at his silver LED watch. "It's still early"

"Where's your father?"

Brock pointed down the hallway, and Lola followed his direction, fussing about the house on the way. When she had closed the bedroom door behind herself, Brock rubbed his temples. He loved his mother, but today was not the time for her to come criticize the household he maintained, day in and day out.

It would only be a day or two… hopefully.

* * *

Misty clambered up her stairs to her room, nursing her injured hand, tears in her eyes. She couldn't tell if it was broken, sprained, or just bruised, but either way, it hurt. Twisting her doorknob with her left hand, she slammed it behind her, heading straight for her bed. Amidst the sea of blue bedding, under the semi-transparent fabric canopy, Misty wiped the water from her eyes and checked her hand to see the damage. Her first two knuckles were cut and bleeding, all of them bruised. She surmised they weren't broken when she could move them slightly. Sucking on the cuts, Misty reached to her bedside table and grabbed the envelope that lay there, extracting the letter with one hand gracefully.

It was the same letter Misty had read many times before. The centered, bolded, all capital first line glared out at her as always: LEAGUE COMMITEE CEASE AND DESSIST ORDER. The letter told the same story she already knew. Certain phrases stuck out from the page at her. She knew them all by heart.

"_Full investigation has been completed in Cerulean"_

"_Underage"_

"_Unsupervised"_

"_Questionable training and administrative practices"_

"_Pass leadership to the oldest remaining family member(s)"_

"_Unquestionably incompetent"_

"'_Just a kid'"_

"_Unanimous opinion of the league that Misty Waterflower is to resign as Cerulean's Gym leader by the allotted date of…"_

Misty dropped the page to her lap, not angry. She was so tired of being angry. The "investigation" had been a farce, consisting of a single representative asking her sisters, of all people, questions about the gym. Misty originally thought her sisters had said nothing inflammatory, but years later, there was no other explanation. The league's big problem was Misty's age, and her sisters were concerned with money, or fame, or some prestigious designation, and Misty was just too tired to care about the entire mess anymore.

She had appealed multiple times, usually only receiving one or two votes from the fifteen chair committee. The answer was almost always the same, each time.

"_It is our affirmation that Misty Waterflower is underage and inexperienced for the role of Cerulean Gym Leader, and it is our recommendation that the other Waterflower sisters retain responsibility for the time being_."

The league didn't care, her sisters didn't care, why should she care?

Glancing over at her bedside table, Misty's eyes met the small, framed portrait of her parents, taken at their wedding. The man was short, with dark brown hair that eased seamlessly downward to a full beard. His face was gaunt and serious, but his eyes were blue and full of life, hidden behind large tortoiseshell glasses. The woman had bright orange hair They had built this gym together, and when they had died, it had passed to all of their children. This gym, the forty year legacy, it was partly Misty's, partly her responsibility to maintain, but not any longer. It was her most beloved possession and her most loathed anchor.

Misty glanced between the letter and picture in front of her, a weary look on her face.

She had to get out.

* * *

The Lab was just as it had always been; disheveled papers and strange contraptions everywhere. A line of Pokeballs sat on the table against the wall, likely filled with Spearows and Ratatas and other lower leveled test Pokemon. Windows allowed a large amount of natural light to pour into the lab, also granting a beautiful line of sight out to the beach and Route 21. The entire ground floor was extraordinarily cool, multiple air conditioners running at once in order to maintain a certain temperature, likely for experimentation. The Professor led the way in, climbing the stairs to the second floor, which acted as a balcony across the entire far side of the lab.

Ash hadn't seen the interior in many years, and a sudden pang of guilt hit him, realizing that he hadn't seen his stored Pokemon in that long either. Since the championship, he'd only traveled with Muk, Kingler, Tauros, and Pikachu of course.

In front of him, the Professor opened a pair of glass double doors leading to an outdoor balcony and sat down at the round patio table situated under a red and white awning. Ash let Pikachu go past him, closed the door, and followed suit, pulling up a chair. Pikachu jumped up on the table, as anxious as Ash to hear what they were doing. Placing the folder on the table, the Professor pulled over a small wooden container. Ash kept his eyes glued on the folder as Oak removed a calabash pipe.

"You two don't mind, do you?" The Professor motioned towards Ash and Pikachu while packing the tobacco. Ash looked up.

"Oh, of course not Professor, we're guests," Oak gave a curt smile and nod, striking a match and waving it out once the pipe was lit. A puff of smoke rose up and dissipated in the ocean breeze. Ash's first instinct of conversation had nothing to do with the matter at hand, but with the whereabouts of his old friends, none of whom he had made contact with since his hiatus at Mt. Silver, which he had finished months ago.

"How are Tracey and Gary doing?"

"Tracey's back in the Orange Islands, researching distinct colouration within Pokémon species. He's very happy to be back, but my word, it must be hotter there than it is here, if that's possible." A puff on the pipe, and Oak continued. "Gary? Somewhere in Unova. To be quite honest, I haven't heard from my grandson in quite a long while."

"What about Brock and Misty?"

"You haven't spoken to them? I've had minimal contact with either, but both had questioned your whereabouts during your time at Mt. Silver. To be quite honest I'm surprised you've left them in the dark this long."

"I had priorities I needed to take care of first."

Oak gave a skeptical look. Taking another puff, he carefully unraveled the string holding the folder closed. Once the string was loose, the Professor looked up, taking the pipe from his mouth.

"Now, what I'm about to detail to each of you is classified. It's of utmost importance that word of this is not released. Do you both understand that this mission does not exist, nor will it ever exist?"

Ash's eyes were dark and serious, focused on something far away, yet not entirely inattentive, as if he was in deep though. Turning his head slowly to Pikachu, Ash returned his gaze back to the Professor, who was patiently puffing away on his pipe, folder in the other hand.

"Yes Professor. We both understand completely."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER II**

Oak opened the folder methodically, extracting a single, sepia toned photograph. Reaching across the table, he handed it to an inquisitive Ash.

"Do you know this man Ash?"

The photograph was a portrait of a man in his forties, his brown hair was carefully styled back, although his hairline was beginning to recede. Clad in a bright orange suit that stood out, even through the sepia tone, the man's most striking trait was his jaw and brow line, stock straight and extraordinarily rigid. A faint sneer adorned his mouth, his eyes peering intensely through the picture at Ash. The trainer glanced up across the table, shaking his head.

"No Professor, but he looks familiar." Oak flipped through the papers in the file before looking up once more.

"You're looking at the leader of the Team Rocket crime organization, Giovanni,"

"Giovanni?" Ash looked back down at the picture. "I know the name, just not the face."

"Most people don't Ash. He hasn't been openly public in well over a decade. In fact, many reports label him as deceased. "

Oak stood up, folder under his arm, and stepped back inside through the doors. Moments later he emerged, pushing a wheeled trolley with a reel to reel machine on top, cord dragging behind as he moved it into position beside the table.

"Now," Oak returned to his seat, clicking the device to play. "I have reason to believe differently"

"_Field recording number 0487, the date is 3/15/95. Time is 06:24."_

Ash and Pikachu both leaned towards the machine simultaneously in anticipation. A blast of static emitted from the speakers, dying down into a single tone, which blipped to an end. Next came a voice, strong, yet quiet. Slow, yet impressive, emerging from radio static. Cryptic, yet crystal clear. The spinning wheels were hypnotic.

"_It could be said that pain and fear are one in the same, each representations of each other within themselves. One must laugh at death, but embrace pain. There is a reality in our minds that pain is the unequivocal division between life and death. Death does not comprise of pain. Pain is the price one pays for life."_

Static cut away the next segment of speech, leading to another dial tone, another announcement by Professor Oak of the date and time, and one more segment of Giovanni's words.

"_What is within a Shuckle? A Cloyster? Would we find a beating heart? Guts? Blood? Bile? Semen? Puss? What makes them tick? What makes any Pokemon, any person, any idea, tick? Why is it that we cannot… cut any one of those things open and see? The first two are simple; they are protected only by flesh, but a physical barrier. But an idea. An idea! That cannot be cut by a blade, no matter how sharp. _"

Oak clicked the tape off, leaning back into his chair.

"This is confirmed to be the voice of Giovanni, captured on a radio broadcast far north of Ecruteak City, even north of Lake Of Rage." Ash's trance broke with the ending of the playback. He glanced back at the Professor, face wide, as if suspended in a state of moderate surprise. With a sigh, the Professor got to his point.

"Giovanni is a very intelligent man. He was once, and likely still is, an excellent Pokémon trainer. We were friends, many years ago. He was quite similar to you in those ways, even having the same dream as you, of becoming a Pokémon master. But over the years, his methods of training, of battling, of capturing, his own dream became…" The Professor puffed his pipe once, as if looking for the proper adjective. "Unsound."

Ash's gaze turned downward to the man in his hands as Oak spoke, trying to imagine him younger, imagine him differently, imagine Giovanni like himself.

"It is believed that almost every crime, every action of Team Rocket in the last twenty five years has been from the command of the man himself. I have a detailed dossier concerning every aspect of Giovanni's life I could find, compiled through my own efforts." Ash's line of sight remained transfixed on the photograph as Oak continued to speak.

"Now you see Ash, out there in the world, things get… twisted." Another puff. "Morals, ideals, power, dreams. There's a conflict within every human, over rational and irrational thought. Light and dark. Good and evil." Another puff. "And we can't always win Ash. Good doesn't always win."

Ash glanced up from the photo to see Oak, looking musingly out over the vista, pipe in his hand, breeze moving his hair slightly. Realizing eyes were on him, Oak turned his head to meet Ash's gaze.

"Every man has a breaking point. You and I have them."

Another puff.

"But Giovanni has reached his." Oak's words suddenly drew a sharpness, an anger too them. "And it's undeniably apparent that this man is insane,"

The pause seemed forever. Ash's eyes, as they had the entire conversation, seemed to traverse his surroundings, not in disinterest, but in a manner of pure, internal thought, catalyzed by the information Oak was presenting him. They finally returned. Oak's gaze, for the first time, seemed to be one of intimidation, of intensity.

"Yes Professor, very much so" Ash cleared his throat with as much indifference as he could "Obviously insane"

Oak's gaze softened, seemingly acceptant of Ash's agreement. The professor took one last puff of his pipe before placing it on its stand to die out.

"Your mission is to travel to the wilderness north of Johto, attempt to discover the whereabouts of Giovanni, learn more of his hideout. When you've located the leader, infiltrate the base by whatever means necessary, and…" Oak cleared his throat quickly. "Terminate Giovanni's command." Pikachu's ears stood up. Ash's eyes widened almost imperceptivity. His lips moved faintly, finally forming words.

"Terminate? Professor?"

Oak stood up, holding the dossier towards the younger trainer, his expression blank.

"Terminate, with extreme prejudice."

* * *

The ceiling fan spun, once more. Ash's room had a faded darkness to it, sunlight breaking through around the blind, heavily filtered traveling through it, bathing the room with a light beige tint. The dossier sat on the bedside table, still unopened since the meeting earlier today, with Giovanni's portrait on top. Ash laid on his stripped bed in his boxers, Pikachu at the foot of his bed, right underneath the ceiling fan. The heat was stifling, even worse in the late afternoon, but his mind had been too busy to be blanketed by the heat.

He knew he would not kill Giovanni, even if he could.

Mt. Silver had taught Ash many things. It had stripped much of his former naivety away. He could think there, realize connections he'd have never understood. The world around him seemed so simple when he was at the top. He'd written a letter to every person he could think of. At the end he had set the entire bundle free in the river. They were not for them; they were for him to learn from, to objectively see his feelings, his mind. He doubted any of the recipients would have been particularly pleased with the contents of Ash's letters, but that was of no matter. Beyond that, he dreamed, imagined, got lost in his head. The progression he gained may have been inside his head, but it was just as apparent and important to him, if not more so. There was no bias, no peer pressure, just pure lucid thought.

During the time since he'd returned, his mother had chastised him for acting cynical, but it was simply how he viewed the world now. Even in the revelations he discovered at Mt. Silver, Ash knew that murder was a method he would never take part in. However, in the same way, he could not disappoint Professor Oak, the man who'd given him almost everything for his Pokémon dream.

Oak was asking too much. This was too much. Ash wanted a mission, but this wasn't. He couldn't. It isn't. No.

His mind was a mess.

Oak had argued the point home some more before Ash left. Claimed the mission was "for the greater good". He had told Ash the benefits of a Team Rocket free world. Hiding wasn't enough, Giovanni would simply return.

There was never any guilt trip, Oak was far wiser then to make this personal. His arguments were based in fact; morality, optimism, but still fact.

Ash had tried to come up with loopholes. He didn't know enough about the mission to come up with any convincing ones. His own refusal to read the dossier came from the idea that reading was accepting.

He hadn't accepted the mission yet, had he?

The Professor hadn't said one way or another, and Ash thought it likely that if he refused, there wouldn't be any backlash to his decision.

So far his only plan was to accept and not follow through.

Even if he found Giovanni, which Ash deemed unlikely, and even if he managed to infiltrate the grand fortress that he imagined Giovanni to be hiding within, which Ash also deemed unlikely, he could use something other than violence to defeat him. A Pokémon battle, diplomacy, even blackmail; anything was better than killing. Even if he just let him be, the likelihood that Oak wouldn't believe him was slim. He would probably infer Team Rocket found a way to hold together without their exalted leader.

Ash couldn't do this alone, and The Professor had pointed out at the meeting his surprise at Ash's lack of communication to his friends. Oak was originally going to request that Brock and Misty accompany him on the journey, which would be one of Ash's longest, but in light of the circumstances, Oak left that decision up to Ash, stating that he would back Ash in the event that either one of the two were skeptical on the nature of the trip. The Professor had also made it clear that neither was to know any details regarding the mission, stating that how Ash handled that part was also his responsibility.

The Professor had left nothing to obscurity, securing transportation and finances, giving an estimation of a two week to month long round trip, providing Ash's mother with a simple description of where he may be going, and reminding Ash to choose his Pokémon team carefully before departing. The only thing left for him to do was accept or decline. Ash was expected over tomorrow for a final decision.

Ash rubbed his eyes, sweat burning where he touched them. Leaning over from his prone position, he tried to read the clock, which slowly came into focus.

55:4

"Goddamn it."

* * *

Ash awoke to the sound of breaking glass. Jolting up, he realized quickly that the alarm clock had gone off, playing Pink Floyd's _Another Brick In The Wall Pt. 3_, the bass drum matching his heartbeat, both of them pounding in his ears. Putting his head in his hands, he felt his sweat soaked hair. If anything, the temperature had increased from yesterday. He glanced sidelong at the flashing LED before getting off his bed, heading straight for a shower.

Dressed once again in his usual black shirt and pants, Ash went about packing anything he'd need for the coming trip, Pikachu sitting on the bed beside his backpack, the radio host's lethargic, monotone voice in the background.

"_That was 'Have a Cigar' from 1975's 'Wish You Were Here' album. Up next is 'Pigs' off the 1977 release 'Animals' as K-Billy's Super Sounds of The Seventies Pink Floyd Weekend just keeps on… truckin'"_

The backpack was barely full when Ash had finished; he was a light traveler. His last two objects were a bed roll, and his Pokemon League Expo hat, which he placed on his dark hair. When he'd returned from Mt. Silver, his hair had been shoulder length, and in addition to all the scolding he got from his mother regarding the trip itself, one of the first things she did was drag him to a barber. Ash's hair was back to his normal length, and despite never shaving the entire trip, he didn't grow any noticeable facial hair, much to his chagrin.

Pikachu jumped up onto the bedroll, then up to Ash's head with a happy cry, dislodging his hat slightly. Straightening the Pikachu and hat combo on his head, Ash glanced at the clock radio, still playing Pink Floyd rather loudly.

55:4

Ash stood still for a moment, almost in a trance; the clock face flashing incessantly, David Gilmour's talk boxed guitar squealing.

55:4

How long had it been going for? Eight years?

55:4

"_You're nearly a laugh"_

55:4

"_You're nearly a laugh"_

55:4

"_But you're really a cry_"

55:4

Ash walked towards the flashing clock radio.

55:4

Panasonic.

55:4

AM/FM.

55:4

Calmly reaching around the side of his bedside table, careful not to tilt his head too much for Pikachu, Ash grabbed hold of the plug and pulled it from the socket. With a tiny blip, the music stopped. The display stopped. It died.

Laying the plug on the floor methodically, Ash stood up and observed his handiwork, Pikachu tilting his head in confusion at what was happening, still holding the top of Ash's head. A small smile graced Ash's lips as he picked up his bag and bedroll and left his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

There's two references to two very funny and highly recommended Youtube series' related to Pokemon. Kudos if you spot them.

Thank you to all the readers and the single review so far, it's very appreciated.

Let the canon twisting continue.

* * *

**CHAPTER III**

"Ah, Ash, you're here early,"

Professor Oak, clad in a brown velour robe and slip-on slippers, tall glass of orange juice in hand, descended the staircase from upstairs when he heard Ash enter the lab.

"It's already eleven thirty, Professor"

"Hmm, my word, it is!" The Professor took a seat in a nearby wheeling desk chair and spun around so that he faced Ash. "Do tell, what is your decision regarding your trip?"

Ash put down the tiny gadget he had picked up from the adjacent desk, turning his attention to The Professor, who was in a rather good mood.

"Yeah. I'll do it." Oak stood up and clapped once at the answer.

"Excellent! I can transfer the trip funds to your account as soon as you're off. I've set aside around P50 000, far more than you should need,"

Ash looked surprised at the sheer amount, not even considering how speedily The Professor would have it for him or how the man gained access to his account for a money transfer, although he suspected his mother granted permission. Accordingly, Ash assumed that The Professor had told his mother he would likely be adventuring again beforehand, judging by her accepting his goodbye without any fuss. With a darkly ironic glee, considering the premise of the mission ahead, Oak walked speedily past Ash to the front door, turning around just as he opened it.

"And now, as promised, the transportation."

* * *

The garage door rolled open slowly, revealing in its light an older station wagon. The words "Vista Cruiser" were written in cursive on the front quarter panel, just above the faux wood paneling that covered the car from the top of the wheels down. The rest of the car was painted a "Saddle Bronze" as Professor Oak had repeated multiple times on the walk to the garage. The paint itself was still lustrous after the decades of storage, shining in the newfound sunlight alongside the multitude of chrome. Ash vocalized the first thought to cross his mind.

"Professor, this looks old as shit"

The professor turned to Ash and replied, not in blatant sarcasm, but in a deadpanned, matter-of-fact statement.

"Well, at least it doesn't run on husks of corn"

Pikachu scurried into the garage, coming to a halt at the driver's door, standing on his hind legs, sniffing the car as if asking to enter. Oak followed slowly, spouting a list of specifications as he carefully opened the door for Pikachu to climb in.

"455 V8, three speed Turbo-Hyrdramatic automatic transmission, air conditioning, power steering, power brakes, leather upholstery, vista glass, seats nine, ten miles per gallon on the highway…"

Ash threw his bedroll and bag in the back and climbed in after Pikachu who curled into the passenger seat. The leather was admittedly more comfortable than his mother's car, but he couldn't get past how outdated the entire vehicle was.

"This doesn't even have power windows. Unleaded fuel only? When did fuel have lead in it?"

Oak sighed and bent down so his crossed arms were resting on the window Ash had just cranked down. He carried on the conversation as if Ash hadn't spoken, holding out the keys.

"I got it all legal and insured for your trip, even put fresh gas in it. You should try a drive to Pewter, talk to Brock, maybe even to Cerulean to see Misty. I haven't driven it since I taught at the university."

Ash took the keys, inserting them into the ignition. The "Welcome to Fabulous Celadon City" keychain dangled freely as the keys were rotated, firing the big V8 to life. Ash studied the rather simple dash, poked his fingers around the stereo in the center, which housed a slot that was much too big for cassette tapes.

"What is this? It looks like it plays VHS,"

"That's an 8-track player,"

"I don't have any of those,"

Professor Oak dug around in a box in the back seat, beside some blankets, and what appeared to be an old television set. He found what he was looking for, withdrawing a big plastic tape cartridge from the box and returning to his spot at the driver side window.

"This is one of my favorites, Patsy Cline." He whistled appreciatively. "She was a beaut,"

"Sure Professor, thanks for the car," Ash replied, taking the cartridge from the Professor's outstretched hand. "I'll be in contact,"

"Call when you can. Good luck, and remember, I'm trusting you with this Ash. Don't let me down."

Ash nodded in reply, shifting the car into gear. Before Ash had left the driveway, he had thrown the Patsy Cline 8-track blindly into the backseat, where it bounced a few times and ended up lodged under the front seats. As he turned out onto the street, Ash gave a quick two fingered wave out the window in reply to the Professors slow, open handed wave. Within a few minutes, Ash was out of the hamlet of Pallet and on the West Kanto Expressway, Pavement's _Cut Your Hair_ blaring out of the station wagon and Pikachu sticking his head out of the window as they glided along the smooth, flat pavement. This wasn't a mission anymore, it was a road trip.

* * *

The drive to Pewter took around three hours, including a stop in Viridian City for petrol. The short trip felt oddly ironic; mostly because of how entertaining it had begun, despite the mission Ash had been set out to complete. Within his own mind, Ash knew this wasn't about Giovanni anymore, about Oak. This would be one of his adventures again, just like old times. Him, Pikachu, Misty and Brock, all together again. Ash had missed that, but it never felt right to call them, always empty and pathetic. There was no drive to, no inherent need, a meaningless connection. This mission acted as a catalyst, a reason to reunite with his lost friends. Only when he pulled the station wagon in front of the Slate home did Ash realize there could be a distinct possibility that his friends would want nothing to do with either him, or the trip.

Glancing out the window, Ash surveyed his surroundings. Brock's home was a late 60's bungalow, maroon siding, low and long, shrubs cradling its concrete foundation, circular stepping stones leading from the ancient sidewalk, long since fractured and weed infested by the nature it coated, up to the front door, complete with brass knocker, a pattern so unlike the roughhewn, homestead-esque surroundings of the town that it drew the eye, not for the prowess of its design but for the gaudiness of its existence, the sheer braggadocio it exerted by having the audacity to completely oppose every visual aspect around it. The whole house screamed its purpose in this manner.

Although about thirty years old, the home was far more modern than the other log or brick buildings that comprised the small town of Pewter, some likely from before the turn of the century, built by settlers and expanded during the mining boom. Even the Pewter City PokeCenter, a modern facility in most Kantonese cities, was a distinctive, Victorian era building, pointed steeples and long arched windows. The gym was little more than a brick square, designed completely on the basis of utility. The Slate home was separated not only architecturally, but physically from the rest of town, residing in the northwest, past the gym and museum.

Ash slowly opened the car door, stretching his legs out before stepping out, quickly followed by an enthusiastic Pikachu, who scuttled up onto the grass of the front lawn, sending a backward glance, a request to hurry up. Removing the cap from his head and sticking it on the dashboard, Ash purposefully made his way up the circular stepway, clapping the worn brass door knocker at the end of his journey.

The door cracked open, slowly at first, but then wider to allow Brock sight of the unexpected guest. Ash was older, taller, looked a little gaunter and a little more stooped, as if the weight of life was pressing on his shoulders, but he was still recognizable as ever. Same black shirt, same tanned complexion, same big brown eyes, same messy black mop. The smirk on his face was of nostalgic memory.

"Good to see ya Brock"

Brock's face was wide in shock, and a smile grew quickly, although the older of the two remained speechless, standing at his door, clad in sweatpants and an oversized "Orange Archipelago" T-shirt that unabashedly usurped its design from the Pablo Cruise logo, he stood face to face with a friend of the past. For the first time since Ash was entered into the Pokemon Hall of Fame, the pair embraced, one of brotherly connection. Even Pikachu clung to Brock's pant leg. The reuniting was interrupted by a call from the house.

"Brock! Who's at the door?"

"An old friend mom,"

"The house is a mess, we can't have company,"

Brock turned back to Ash from his call-and-response conversation through the house.

"Don't pay her any mind. Come in, please, how long has it been? Ten years?"

"Eight." Ash removed his ratty sneakers at the door, only knowing the figure because Oak had reminded him the day prior. "How've you been?"

"Me? Hah! I'm not the one that disappeared into thin air for the longest time." The pair continued through the entrance to the living room, Lola giving a "did-you-hear-what-I-said?" gesture as she caught sight of the guest, one which went ignored by Brock, who continued his conversation. "What was that about?"

"I'll explain everything soon. I actually didn't come here for a visit, but for a request." Ash's forthrightness threw Brock off, knowing the younger man to be crass and inappropriate on occasion, but usually due to his naivety, not because he needed to get to a point or anything of the sort. The pair sat opposite each other in the living room, Brock leaning back with his arms spread across the back of the sofa. Pikachu jumped up on the back of the couch, curling up. Before Brock could reply, his mother broke in.

"You invite your guest into this filthy house and you don't even offer him a refreshment? What kind of hosting are yo-"

"Mom, could you please just let us be for a few minutes? Check on Dad, it's about time for his medication."

Lola pursed her lips, but turned on her heel and strode down the hallway to the bedrooms. Brock turned his attention back to Ash, who started before he could even speak.

"I'm doing a job for Professor Oak. It involves me travelling to Johto, north of Ecruteak, and I wanted you to come with me."

"Travel? Now?"

"I'm gonna go ask Misty too, it'll be like old times, the three of u-"

"Ash, I can't."

Ash's face didn't fall as Brock had expected it too, but there was a distinct shift in not only his expression, but also his mannerism. The air in the room compressed.

"Why?"

The question was simple and direct, the answer, however, was not.

"Many reasons, but the main one is that I have priorities, existing responsibilities to uphold. My father's sick, the gym's a mess, these kids need a responsible guardian." Brock gestured out the glass doors that made up one side of the living room wall, facing out to the backyard where the majority of Brock's siblings were playing soccer, two of them off reading under a large elm tree. Ash sighed at the dilemma, getting up from the couch and gesturing for Brock to follow him.

"Let's head outside"

Ash brought Brock outside into the front yard to talk, Pikachu happily staying inside, curled on the couch. Almost immediately, Ash turned to Brock, issuing a sort of vocal assault.

"You've never done anything spontaneous before, have you?"

"What?"

"Y'know, spontaneous! Impromptu, off the cuff, no preparation,"

"Yes Ash, I know what spontaneous means. Where are you going with th-"

"Ditch 'em!"

"Excuse me?"

"Just leave. You've done your part, much more than your part. Right now you're needed elsewhere by other people,"

"I see the years have given you an excellent grasp on the concept of actions and consequences." The sarcasm appeared to have been lost on Ash, who still retained some of his former denseness. "Look, I can't just abandon my family, especially with no one to take care of them besides me."

"Oh come on, you don't expect me to believe you _like_ it here. Do you enjoy working as a nanny twenty-four seven?"

"Running a household isn't about _fun_, it's about responsibility."

"Brock. You've had enough responsibility for a lifetime"

The last line Ash said stuck close to the truth. Brock had taken care of his siblings at home, taken care of Ash and Misty on the road, taken care of Pokemon at Professor Ivy's lab. There was no time in the realm of his memory where he did not care for someone in some manner. His adventures had been fun, but they were laced with the normal duties he took care of at home. Cooking, cleaning, healing, boosting morale, preventing fights, arguments, he did all of these things. However, it was not in his nature to simply disregard his responsibilities, and go, as he liked to call it, willy-nilly.

"I can't Ash, it's just not me"

"God Brock, you are such a pussy." Ash grabbed a fistful of his hair in frustration. "Look, you're vital to us, just tel-"

"Vital, huh? How?"

"What do you mean, how?"

"What I mean, is what am I needed for on this trip? What would I do there that wouldn't be just a simple household responsibility?"

Ash's expression changed exponentially, seeing that he had fought himself into a corner with a more experienced, more composed, and wiser opponent. Attempting to convince Brock to leave cooking and cleaning at home to cook and clean on an adventure was a fallacy that Brock obviously picked up on quickly. Sighing in defeat, Ash smoothed out his hair, which still remained a mess. Glancing towards the front of the house to ensure Pikachu was still inside, and hadn't followed them out to interrupt that talk, Ash glanced back to Brock, who still stood a ways taller than the much shorter Ash, even after all these years.

"Fine. Do what you think is right. But I believe you'll be more help, probably having a better time with me and Misty rather than cooped up at home,"

Brock's stern glance softened slightly at Ash's verbal defeat.

"I understand where you're coming from Ash. I want to journey with you and Misty again, but I'm not exactly sure it's a viable option for me right now. I have a lot going on at home. Can you give me a little while to figure everything out?"

"How long is a while?"

"I dunno? Maybe a month? Maybe mor-"

The screen door to Brock's house slammed open beside the pair and Lola leaned out, face aghast with shock. The corded phone in her hand was stretched to its full extent, likely liable to rip off the wall inside.

"Brock! It's your father! He stopped breathing!"

Brock and Ash stood, mouths agape, rooted on the spot for a split second, before Brock sprinted into the house, past his mother, leaving Ash on the front step.

* * *

Yesterday's events had been completely unexpected, and although Ash was on the sidelines for the majority of it, he had gotten the gist of it. Flint had been rushed to the Cerulean PokeCenter, none of the one's west of Mt. Moon were outfitted to deal with human emergencies, mostly in part to the tiny population of the surrounding area. Ash had been told, alongside the children, when Brock and Lola had returned hours later, that Flint had passed away. Brock and Lola had spent much of the remaining evening talking in hushed tones in another room down the hall. Supper had been prepared and Ash ate, rather awkwardly with the hoard of siblings, the dinner being completely void of vocalization, save for a short prayer that Ash abstained from.

The next morning, Brock had approached Ash, agreeing to partake in the mission with him. Greatly surprised by the sudden answer, Ash had ensured that this hadn't been a rash decision before they left. Brock's only reply had been "I have to get out of that place", and neither had spoken of the speedy departure nor the death of Flint since. Ash recognized this as one of the only times in Brock's life that he had taken the impetuous path. They had been on the expressway by 9am, headed east to Cerulean City.

Ash felt eternally exhausted. Every night was the same, no matter what, no matter where. The Slate's couch had been comfortable enough, but there was constant thought whenever he tried to allow sleep to invade him. Made up arguments, conversations, dreams without sleep, problems that seem too advanced for the human mind to comprehend, problems that are so simple they don't even require thought. Ash had spent almost three hours lying awake, his mind trying to figure out an unsolvable math problem that his consciousness itself had made up. It had ohms and frequencies and logarithms and all kinds of numbers, but there was no answer. When his mind found the "answer", it simply double checked the solution over, and over, and over, and over. When the orange light from outside began to flow into the house, Ash knew that sleep was a lost cause.

"Ash, you look exhausted"

No shit.


	4. Chapter 4

The two lines:

"Professor, this looks old as shit" is from the_ Pokemon But With Animals Instead_ video series, a poorly made, hilariously scripted animation.

"Husks of corn" is a reference to a running joke of Oak's in _Pokemon: The 'Bridged Series_, an all-round excellent dub.

* * *

**CHAPTER IV**

As the Vista Cruiser mounted the peak of a rather steep hill, the horizon exploded into view, Cerulean City nestled in the crook of a river which traveled northeast until the eye could no longer define it. While not a sprawling metropolis like Saffron and Celadon, Cerulean was sleek and modern, numerous high-rises, stainless steel and mirrored glass, fighting space constraints by building up, not out. There was no suburban sprawl, the city cut out abruptly, replaced by either the river banks, or mountainous Route 9, no fading from urban to rural, almost as if the ultra-modern city was precariously placed into its designation, rather than built out from a central entity.

The radio station Ash had picked up past Mt. Moon was playing Bob Dylan's _Cold Irons Bound_ softly through the cab, Ash focusing on the awful traffic while Brock sipped on bottled water, reading some of his book. The conversation had puttered out a short while before, mainly due to Ash, who was already a terribly inexperienced driver, having to combat the surprising early morning rush-hour on the highway connecting Pewter and Cerulean, but also because pair had used up most of the small-talk and non-invasive inquiry that had comprised the conversation beforehand. There was no mention of Ash's questionable leave-of-absence to Mt. Moon, no probing of Brock's feelings regarding his loss; the conversation was overly safe, to the point of smothering itself out.

Pikachu had happily taken the entire back seat, the tiny amount of luggage between Ash and Brock easily sat in the back, amidst the junk there, which Brock had said needed to be cleaned out once the pair got to Cerulean. After they passed the sign that welcomed visitors to the city, the highway began to fuse into the city, becoming no more an expressway than a multi-lane city street. Ash jerked the twenty-foot long station wagon into a left turn down the street for the Cerulean Gym, nearly grazing a jaywalker, running across the street to meet a cab.

"Woah, slow down Ash! Watch where you're going,"

"Did you see him? He ran out right in front of me? Goddamn idiot deserved to get run down,"

"Ash, pedestrians always get the right away,"

'Hey, I'm the one driving, not you. Where the hell is Misty's gym? The street sign said it was down here,"

Brock sighed at the conversation shift, turning to look out the window at the bleach white concrete sidewalks, stainless steel guard rails, parking meters, when a thought crossed his mind.

"Do you even have your driver's license?"

Ash turned his head right, just briefly, but long enough that Brock caught him stifling a laugh. The younger man immediately composed himself, looking back out to the busy street.

"Of course,"

"You have got to be kidding me,"

"What? I have it!"

"Show me,"

"Here? Now? I'm focusing on driving,"

"Ash, you _need_ a license to drive, it's like your Pokemon Trainer's license,"

"Well if it's just like it, I don't need another license,"

Brock dragged a hand down his face at Ash's inane stubbornness, resolute ignorance. Before Brock could try to rationalize the situation for Ash, the driver pointed out the unmistakable landmark, huge metal Dewgong adorning the front, weathered, but still standing strong. The domed building appeared out of place among the neighboring cityscape, just as Brock's house had, bright blue and white, big, round and wide, like a Wailord among mirrored pillars. The sign was situated underneath the Dewgong, "Cerulean City Gym", with a subtitle that read "Home To The Fabulous Sensation Sisters". Ash ripped the station wagon into another life-threatening left turn, Brock and Pikachu both covering their eyes as they cut off a line of traffic pulling into the parking lot.

Although the gym encapsulated both the battling arena and the Waterflower home, the living quarters were situated towards the back, and a side door off the parking lot provided direct access, rather than having to enter in the front. Although the outside was bleak and industrial, Ash knew the inside to be much more homey and inviting, through the large steel door. Ash parked the station wagon haphazardly, taking up three spots and still managing to have the front end stick out past the space, not that it was of any matter in the nearly empty lot. Although Cerulean had its fair share of traffic, the majority of its population was progressive and eco-friendly. Alternative forms of transportation thrived, with much of the large city being accessible by bike and walking paths.

Ash purposefully shifted into park and shut the engine off before getting out, followed slowly by Brock, who appeared grateful to be directing his own speed and direction again, and Pikachu, who recognized the building immediately, despite not seeing it for almost a decade. The electric mouse scampered along the asphalt, bounding over parking stops and giving a cry of joy, heading straight for the door to see his old friend. Encircling the door, Ash donned his cap as Brock held the buzzer beside the door, the noise faintly heard through the door.

No answer.

Each of the three glanced around at each other before Brock hit it once more. Again, there was no reply but silence.

"Maybe they're not home?"

"I'll try it one more time,"

As Brock's finger released the button for the third time, a muffled yelling emitted through the door, piquing the interest of the trio. Before they knew it, the door had swung open, and they were greeted with a slight frame, topped with bright orange hair, turned away in mid-argument.

"-and expect me to do all your shit! Seriously Daisy, how difficult is it for you to get the fucking… door" Misty trailed off has her head turned to see her visitors, her face of frustration instantly washing to a frozen shock. Her eyes locked on Ash's, instinct being the only reason she caught an exuberant Pikachu, who immediately jumped into her arms, nuzzling her collarbone. They were here, truly here.

Ash looked old, far older than he should, thin, almost to the point of scrawny, though his skinniness could have been exacerbated by how defined his features seemed, specifically his cheeks, hands, and neck. Overall, he was taller, his hair possibly a little longer, and his black shirt and cuffed blue jeans no different, but it was his eyes that remained the same, above all. For such dark eyes, they emanated such brightness, looking straight at her. She hadn't forgotten his eyes over the years, mainly because they were so unique.

Brock's stature still radiated authority, but his smile negated that. He had grown considerably, both in height and robustness, looking more like his father physically. His hair remained the same, spiked up, and he still squinted, but like Ash, he seemed older than Misty would have pictured him, a frailness to his composure, despite his build. Even Pikachu seemed far older, his fur feeling coarser than she remembered against her bare arms, although the mouse maintained an air of childish enthusiasm. Misty couldn't tell if her observations were the reality of the group aging, or the effects of something beyond that. After moving her glance to each of the three, she returned her gaze to Ash.

Ash remembered Misty very vividly in his memory, and he was taken by surprise at how little she had changed over the years. She was still slight and slim, perhaps scrawny, although her hips had gained a noticeable curvature to them, leading to her wider thighs, toned from swimming like much of the muscle not hidden by her blue cuffed jean shorts and faded yellow tank top. Ash noticed a distinct lack of suspenders, guessing she had outgrown them, although a worn pair of red high-tops still adorned her feet, loosely laced, colour faded, similar to the ones she used to wear, if they weren't the same ones. Ash's grin grew when he saw her stunned face, airy azure eyes shining with emotion, bright orange hair noticeably longer than before, but still contained in her trademark side ponytail, her bangs falling gracefully just above her eyes.

"Hey Misty" Ash seemed lost on what to say before recovering himself "Long time no see"

Misty's face expanded into a wide grin as she gently placed Pikachu on the ground, striding forward to embrace Ash, one of the few times they had ever hugged. She smelled of light lavender, her tanned frame tiny and fragile in Ash's arms, although her hold was strong and committed. Before Ash could barely pull away as they separated, he found himself being cuffed in the back of the head and scolded, both loudly and fervently.

"Not one mention of where you were? Not one visit? Phone call? Letter by Pidgey? It's been _years_! I've been worried sick!"

All Ash could do was step back, eyes wide, mouth agape, and raise his hands from his sides by his wrists and spread his fingers, as if the small gesture could calm the fanatic Misty. Brock simply looked on, knowing this was coming, and feeling that Ash deserved every bit of it. The older man may not have chastised Ash as thoroughly, but he had been just as deserted as Misty, who kept up her diatribe.

"-inconsiderate! I can't believe you would just disappear on us, not a word of warning! We were your closest friends and you just aband-" Misty's tirade sputtered out abruptly when she glanced over his shoulder, double taking before pushing purposefully past the two men.

"Is that… yours?" Misty, entranced in wonder, jogged over to the Vista Cruiser, its deep bronze shinning bright in the late morning sun, angled rather attractively in the parking lot. Brock gave a look of incredulity at both her sudden shift and the fact that he had been shafted for a hello over a car, while Ash just looked onward where she had run, apparently too confused at what had just transcended to form a composed reaction. While Ash had remembered exactly how Misty looked, his mind must have chosen to forget her polarizing, zealous personality. Misty was too busy circling the station wagon, a loyal Pikachu in tow, to notice the gapping looks her way.

"Holy shit! Look at all the cool stuff in the back!" Brock snorted at her description of the junk cluttering the storage space in the station wagon as he and Ash strolled over in interest. By the time they had reached her, she had already opened the tailgate and dragged out the big box of 8-tracks, careful not to use her injured hand too much .

"Misty! You're making a mess,"

"Where did you find all this? It's so old,"

"Professor Oak gave it to me"

A look of forlorn envy graced Misty's face, as if she could have gotten everything by simply asking the Professor, but the expression quickly shifted to a suspicious confusion.

"Why did The Professor give you a car?" Ash couldn't help but laugh in response.

"Well, I was gonna tell you, but you came over and started riffling through everything,"

"I wasn't _riffling_; I was looking at this old stuff,"

With the grace of a child, Misty plunked herself down on the asphalt, huge grin on her face, box of 8-tracks between her legs, and started looking through the cartridges,, Pikachu curiously leaning his face into the box to see. By now, Brock had devolved into stifled laughter, as Ash flared at Misty in disbelief.

"We have all the time in the world to look at old cassettes, Brock and I came here for a reason,"

"These aren't cassettes, they're 8-tracks. Cassettes replaced these things about fifteen years ago, but I have a little collection of ones I've found out and abo-"

"I _don't_ care. Come on" Ash extended his hand down to her, but Misty ignored it and got up herself, placing the box back into the car.

"Oh, I see. This is strictly a 'business' visit. Sorry to trouble you once in a decade."

"Goddammit Misty, just listen to us, it'll make sense then."

The orange-haired trainer pushed past Ash, face low and hurt, stopped only by Brock's hand on her shoulder and his words of reasonableness.

"Hey, let's all go inside for a bit, have some tea and talk. How's that sound?"

* * *

Ash hated tea. The pale green water sat in front of him, reminding him unappetizingly of pond water. Glancing up, he noticed Brock and Misty both casually sipping at theirs, but all Ash could do was subtly push his mug and saucer further towards the center of the table, more as a personal affront towards it than any practical issue with its proximity.

The kitchen around him was bright, flaunting paper white walls and a black and white checkerboard tile pattern on the floor, the porcelain large and smoothly worn. The whole kitchen was a mix of mid-century modern and 50's diner, with pale yellow cabinets and a pastel blue fridge, looking about forty years old, still lead lined, chrome handle proudly displayed on the rounded appliance. Even the round table the trio was currently sitting at was adorned with white tulip chairs, which Ash found oddly comfortable for such a strange design. Pikachu lay under the table, curled up against the splayed foot of the single pillar.

The conversation hadn't gotten any further than small talk, which Ash thought to be an ineffective use of their time, especially when they could be out adventuring, although both Misty and Brock seemed to be carrying on well, even with minimal input from Ash. The only awkward line of conversation had been when Ash mentioned the absence of Togepi, tactlessly forgetting that Misty had released the creature years before, an event Ash had forgotten despite witnessing it. Since then, Ash had kept mostly to himself, scrutinizing his tea and surroundings. After a particularly uproarious bout of laughter, Misty caught a glimpse of Ash, a curious concern washing over her.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Huh? Er, yeah. It's just, we haven't even gotten to what we came here for."

Brock was about to intervene and tell Ash off for not letting the conversation flow naturally and enjoying the visit, but Misty wordlessly cut the older man off, turning a kind smile across the table Ash's way.

"Alright, what did you come here for?"

How did Misty do that? Her personality was all over the place, from amazement to worry, childlike enthusiasm to anger, casual conversation to an attentive listener. Her range of emotions was even broader and more unpredictable then her eleven year-old self had been years before, not to mention her hair-trigger temper, and Ash was concerned that he would have no way of keeping up with her. He guessed it was hormonal, or some girl thing.

"Well, the reason we came here, and the reason I got the car from Oak, is that, well, we're going adventuring again"

Misty's face brightened instantaneously, and Ash couldn't help but grin along with her as he continued. fazed slightly by her eagerness.

"So, um, did you wanna come along with us?"

She didn't need to know anything more. Her reply was spontaneous, overflowing with elation, delivered as if it were the most obvious response in the world,

"Yes!"

* * *

As soon as the offer had been extended to Misty, she had brightened considerably, immediately excusing herself upstairs to start packing so the group could still salvage some traveling out of the day, which had crossed the threshold into afternoon. Ash followed Misty up the stairs, not having been truly invited, but knowing that he wouldn't be verboten. Her room was the furthest down a narrow hallway, on the left. All the Waterflower sisters had a little name tag on their door, and Misty was no different. Hers appeared to have half the shell of a Shellder, likely a replica, mounted symmetrically underneath her name, painted blue in an arc. It was simple, but rather eye-catching. As she approached the door, Misty turned around to Ash, her eyes naturally wide, anxiousness seeping through her expression. She reached for the door knob with her uninjured hand, and as soon as she cracked the door, Ash could hear the music, which he soon realized was coming from the clock radio at her bedside.

His view of her room was serenaded by Steve Hillage's _Palm Trees_, playing softly in the background. The room was as blue as the mind was allowed to comprehend, and stepping from the rather dark hallway to the instantly bright room was a surreal division. The dresser, comforter, rotary phone, desk, everything was blue or contained some blue. The wall was clad in a wallpaper of repeating Tentacruel, small enough to just look like a pattern from afar. Cut by semitransparent beige curtains and other small instances of lighter colours, the room wasn't so much an overload as it was calming. It was a paradise when directly compared to the rest of the gym, which was mostly concrete and tile, not unlike a factory. Ash's socked feet felt an extra amount of cushion, and he looked down to find baby blue shag carpeting covering the floor, which almost took on the texture and appearance of water at a glance. The entire room was Misty.

As the song continued to play, a single set of lines stood out to Ash, meshing perfectly with the atmosphere of the moment.

_A love that shelters like an oasis in the sand  
From the burning rays of the bright light of truth  
So we can sit together  
In peace beneath the palm trees  
And watch the new age grow_

Watching Ash's head twist and glance around her room, Misty bit her lip, waiting for his reaction, but the most he got was from his dark eyes widening slightly compared to how they were before. She looked down, caressing her heavily bruised hand, running her fingers over the purple and yellow blemishes. Composing herself once more, Misty casually stepped over to her bedside and placed a red book down, catching Ash's attention. His eyes focused on the red notebook as Misty moved over to her closet and removed a large and rather old looking leather suitcase, straps and buckles running alongside the usual hinged clasps. Realizing that it would be suspicious to stare at the book, Ash turned his head to take in Misty's colourful vinyl collection, stretching two bookshelves. With only her left hand, Misty brought her suitcase up on the bed and opened it, glancing over at Ash offhandedly to find him examining the records on her shelf. She noticed, strangely enough, that he wasn't looking at the names of them, but just looking at the albums as a collective. The corners of her mouth curled up slightly as she began stacking clothes from her dresser into the suitcase.

"Ash, how long do you think the trip will be?"

Ash quickly peeked up from his inspection of the albums, his eyes glancing upward and his brow furrowing as he tried to come up with an estimate.

"Professor Oak said it should only take two weeks, but I'd pack for four, just in case"

Surprised at Ash's newfound foresight, Misty tilted her head just slightly as she replied.

"You sure?"

"Mhmm"

Glancing back at her closet and dresser, Misty stated she had to go get some things from downstairs. On her way out, she tilted her head back into the door frame and cracked a joke for the first time in years, elated by the situation.

"No snooping," She teased, sticking her tongue out at Ash. Caught off guard at how accurate her foresight had been, Ash simply nodded blankly as she disappeared out into the hall.

As soon as he lost the sound of Misty's footsteps, Ash plopped himself down on the edge of her bed away from the door and opened the little red book on her bedside table to the last entry, already a few days old.

_May 25th, 1995_

_I'm so tired._

_Not just physically tired anymore. It's getting to me. Everything. The gym's the worst of it, but there are other things. I want to leave. Some days I wish I'd never came back. It's a trap, an anchor. I love this place with all my heart but there's no use trying to make it what it once was._

_I just feel so useless. All I have is memories. My entire existence is fueled by nostalgia, and it's such a joke. I wait for the gym to be better, for my sisters to leave. I wait for Ash to come back, whisk me off to some adventure, hell. even write me. I wait for something, anything, and I'm so tired of waiting._

_I just wish I could be happy. I haven't been happy in a long time._

_The only people I truly talk to are Professor Oak and Brock once in a while, but only to see if they have any news on Ash. I miss him so much._

_I don't know. Even my thoughts feel jumbled. I need to move on, and I can't. _

_Training helps a bit I guess, but only when my sisters aren't around, which is barely ever. Starmie learned Psychic, but I don't really have anyone to use it against. My sisters are starting to get more bitchy about my music, so I can't even rely on that anymore._

_It's been a bad day, so I guess I needed to write._

_- Misty_

The tail of her "y" flowed down beneath the entire name, almost like ocean waves. Ash closed the book slowly as he heard footsteps in the hall, his face one of intense thought.

Misty rounded the corner to her room and saw Ash's back, hunched over something in his hand. Her split-second alarm was confirmed when he rotated slowly, the small red diary in his hand, and looked up at her, full of concern.

"Misty…"

"WHAT?"

Eyes wide and flushing bright red, Misty dropped the objects in her hand and sprinted over to where Ash sat, clamping onto the diary with one hand and pushing Ash back with the other, knocking over a lamp in the process. Ash's concerned look became one of shock. Misty took advantage of his vulnerable position, splayed half on the bed and floor, while she stood towering, the diary clenched to her chest, her cut on hand reopening and beginning to drip blood from the actions that just took place.

"How did I not expect you to be such a dense fucking idiot, even after all these years" Her anger didn't explode, instead pouring out of her like lava. "What kind of shitbrained idea was that? What did you read?"

"Just the last entry, nothing else, I swear" Ash's hands were positioned so that he could quickly bring them up and block his head in self-defense, eyes wide, his body looking like it had frozen in the midst of a flinch.

Misty opened the diary in her hand warily, turning a few pages until she found, Ash guessed, the last entry.

"Misty, you can't just keep everything bottled u-"

"Oh, fuck you!"

She delivered a hard kick to his thigh, Ash grabbing at the point of impact with both hands, a hiss escaping his mouth. Misty looked down at him again, bending slightly to be more intimidating.

"I have one piece of privacy in this entire world." She flipped the diary over and over in her hand. "The last thing I want is you or anyone else coming and fucking it up"

Misty turned on her heels, shoving the diary in her back pocket, grabbed her suitcase with her uninjured hand, and stormed out of the room, her lip quivering as she reached the door jam, passing an on looking Pikachu, who had be drawn by the sound of fighting. Pausing just long enough to see Misty storm down the hallway, Pikachu jumped up to the bed and scuttled to Ash's side, where the trainer lay, mouth agape with bewilderment. His expression turning to one of disheartenment, Ash picked up Pikachu and pulled him into a hug, emitting a sigh, wedged between Misty's bed and the wall, blankets disheveled, lamp on its side, Steve Hillage's delayed guitar still playing softly in the background.

* * *

If you haven't noticed yet, this isn't your normal fanfiction, and as such, characterization is going to be very OOC, partly because of the years that have passed since canon and their different experiences during that time, and partly because I wanted certain characters to reflect certain themes, most of which will emerge or become more apparent later. Also, I've attempted to make the characters, specifically Ash, a little more unlikeable, more morally ambiguous, more cynical and pretentious, in order to have them match the tone more appropriately.

If anyone was wondering about the Pokeshipping aspect, it will be implemented later.

Any feedback is welcome and highly encouraged. Thank you very much to the readers so far.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER V**

Ash emerged from the side door to the gym a few minutes later, quiet and somber, Pikachu riding on his shoulder. Unlike the front of the gym, the back was in a grander state of disrepair. Like the sidewalk in front of Brock's house, but to a lesser degree, the pavement sea that spanned from the gym outwards to the chain-linked property edge was bubbling and cracking in places, the earth trying to push through. The junction of the parking lot and exterior gym wall was crammed with weeds, survivors of the concrete jungle.

Breaking out of his observatory gaze, Ash caught a soft music playing, looking up to see Brock leaning on the Vista Cruiser, the ignition key set to accessory, and what Ash guessed to be an 8-Track playing Barry Whites _Can't Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe_ out of the car, Misty nowhere in sight.

"Have you seen Misty?"

"I thought she was with you,"

"Nope,"

Ash panicked for a second, wondering if she had changed her mind about joining them after what had happened in the bedroom. He was about to relay his fears to Brock when the older man chimed up.

"Hey, Mr. Pokemon Master, carry that old TV in the back to the dumpster over there"

Brock's arm pointed blindly to the far side of the parking lot, his head still down his book, a blue dumpster sitting about a hundred meters away. Ash exaggerated a squint, trying to get out of doing work immediately.

"Can't I just drive over there and drop it off?"

"No way, I found a Barry White 8-Track."

Ash wasn't pleased with the excuse. Brock looked up from his book, a smirk adorning his face as he continued.

"Hey, maybe if I listen to him enough, his suaveness will rub off on me. Then I could get a date with Nurse Joy whenever I want. Besides, he has all these great pick-up lines,"

Shaking his head in mild disbelief at Brock's antics, Ash lugged the heavy, obsolete tube television out of the back of the station wagon, and did as Brock had asked, carrying it all the way to the dumpster and tossing it in, being rewarded with a huge crash and shatter of glass. Turning to head back, Ash caught sight of orange hair, its owner loading her suitcase into the spot cleared up by the television, the rest of the back mostly taken up by Brock's camping and cooking supplies, tents and woks, less so by the groups actual possessions. Jogging back to meet up with everyone, a thought crossed Ash's mind regarding Misty's sudden ability to travel, which he addressed as soon as he had reached her, completely disregarding their past incident.

"Hey, Misty. Who's gonna take care of the gym while you're gone? Are you just gonna leave it with your sisters?"

Brock immediately shot up from his book, inwardly cursing himself for having not told Ash about Misty's predicament with her Gym Leader status, an incident she had visited him about in hopes of advice.

Unlike Brock, Misty slowly raised her head, hand stuck to the car door she was about to open. Her expression was severe, wide, sad eyes, flared nostrils, teeth gritted. Her whispered line was just loud enough to be heard, threatening, aimed directly at Ash.

"Don't even fucking go there,"

She turned her gaze from Ash's wide eyes back to the door handle, which she pulled open. Getting into the back seat, she slammed the door closed, but not before a lightning fast Pikachu pounced into the car after her. Shaking his head at Ash's indelicacy, Brock stood up straight, closing his book and climbing into the passenger side, leaving Ash to stand there alone, before Brock removed the Barry White 8-Track that had serenaded the scene, leaving an eerie silence.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky as the Vista Cruiser floated down the wide open freeway, surprisingly empty during mid-day. At the wheel, Ash drove with a sense of detachment, the only part of him controlling the steering of the two ton boat being a thumb and forefinger loosely gripping the bottom of the thin wheel. His eyelids were dangerously drooped, and he could have been mistaken as being in a state of sleep, slumping and slouching on the leather bench seat. On the passenger side to his right, Brock sat, less sprawled out then Ash, staring steadfastly into the map he held in his hands, knowing that if he didn't copilot Ash, the inexperienced and tired driver would miss an exit at some point, despite the huge green exit signs directing commuters en route, and they would end up off on some tangent, like Fuchsia City, or worse, knowing Ash. It was only about 350 miles straightforward to the Johto border, near Mt. Silver, but the roads were rough and snaked through the thick forest and mountains, so they had left early to get a head start on the day of driving.

Roxy Music's _Love Is The Drug_ played softly on the stereo. Misty had finally rummaged through Oak's entire box of 8-track cartridges and claimed her favorites, somehow managing to artfully enact control of the car stereo for the foreseeable future, her full queue of 8-tracks safely tucked in the top, above her other, less desirable albums. Her argument was something along the lines of "the radio signals" being "weaker" the closer they got to Mt. Silver. Ash had been too exhausted to argue, and Brock had been indifferent to the choice of music, although he enjoyed some of the older music Misty listened to as well. Misty sat; her legs stretched out and crossed across the entire backseat, Pikachu nuzzled in her lap.

Whereas Ash and Brock had engaged in some idle conversation throughout the trip, Misty had been completely enveloped in a small red moleskine notebook, which Ash had mistaken earlier for the diary he had read through at the Cerulean Gym. The new book she had been writing in non-stop since the car had hit the expressway was in much better shape than her older one, lacking its trademark faded colour, tattered corners, and big blue elastic holding it together. Ash knew better than to ask her about the new book, especially since she was likely still ticked about his earlier invasion, seeing as she hadn't talked to him voluntarily ever since. She still came along though, that had to mean something, unless it was to comply with Oak's request over her desire to spend time with the old trio again.

In fact, the chemistry they once cherished, years back, appears to have either been doused or completely lost. The three were noticeably less talkative, especially for a group of old friends who had just reunited not two days ago. All conversation was simply out of necessity, arguments or a façade of polite small talk. There were no funny stories traded, no inquisitive exploration of what had happened to everyone in the last few years. The three couldn't be described as friends at this point, and it could even be inferred that none of them wanted to be in the company of the others, let alone on a road trip. Pikachu was the only connection of all three to each other, and the only connection that each welcomed with a big smile and open arms.

Their first stop on the road was around eleven o'clock at a small roadside gas station on Route 22; one of the older Xatuco pumps still around western Kanto. A large sign portraying a simplified side profile of a Xatu, wings spread back to give the illusion of speed, still stood, weathered but proud, on the sign that also held the price per liter. The bold red "XATUCO" logo was sandwiched between the bird and the prices, on its own separate sign.

The station wagon rolled slowly up to the desolate pumps, their emptiness acting in direct contrast to the heavy traffic on the expressway. Ash got out; first peeking over the car to make sure the station was open, then proceeding to fuel the station wagon. Pikachu bounded out the back door as soon as Misty opened it, scuttling up to the top of Ash's head for a better view of its surroundings, then leaping to the ground to explore the vicinity while Ash adjusted his hat, grinning at the Pokémon's antics. Stretching her arms far above her head and wiggling her legs one at a time, asleep from having Pikachu rest on them for such an extended period of time, Misty's eyes traced her surroundings.

The older era gas station wasn't run down, but much like the Vista Cruiser, was discernibly outdated. There wasn't any other architecture to compare it to in the surrounding area. The whole horizon was abruptly cut by either thick coniferous forest, or a busy freeway, depending on the perspective. It was like time had stopped, only in this alcove in the forest, off the highway.

Misty's stomach hadn't started growling, but she knew it would soon if she didn't eat, not to mention her mood would deteriorate exponentially as time passed. She couldn't bring herself to ask if Brock was going to cook; the whole dynamic of the group was strange. She could talk to Ash and Brock individually, to some extent, and they likely had no trouble with a one on one conversation either, but all together, there was an eerie silence that no one had the courage to break.

Her mind kept wandering, as did her feet, towards the door of the station, not breaking her train of thought until she felt the push door be held open just as she walked through. Turning her head in surprise, she saw Ash, his brown eyes first of all. She couldn't tell if his expression was one of exhaustion and stress or remorse for how he acted earlier, but he didn't linger to let her examine deeper. Brushing past her in the cramped store, he approached the counter, which housed a younger man than they had expected to run the station.

The clerk was in his thirties, maybe forties, with a scruffy brown beard, plaid shirt, squinty eyes, and tall stature. Beside him, a transistor radio played John Denver's _Rocky Mountain High_, the tone lost in a light static. Unlike normal convenience stores, where the clerk's counter was framed in useless gimmicks and impulse buys, the store was surprisingly refined, not bloated in commercialist excess. No bright, shiny labels sucked a person's attention inward; any logos or packaging looked of the same vintage as the store. The bait and tackle was displayed on one end of the counter, cigarettes and pipe tobacco on the other, and a small selection of gum and breath mints created a border between the two. Pokeballs sat in rows on specialized racks at the far side of the store. Every product was truly on display, not behind glass, or in a container within a container. Misty seemed to have noticed the exact same things, as she complimented the clerk on the store, receiving a polite thank you in return. As soon as Ash's eyes met the clerks, the man spoke in a deep, friendly tone.

"Good morning, how may I help you?"

"Er, gas on pump two, and" Turning around to see Misty waiting behind him, looking down at the black and white checkerboard linoleum floor, a box of Cracker Jacks and a glass bottle of Coke cradled in her arms. Snatching the two items out of her unsuspecting grip, Ash placed them on the counter as well.

"These, and this," Completely on impulse, Ash reached down to the tobacconist shelf in front of him and pulled up the most appealing package he saw, an entirely red box with a regal white "Pall Mall" emblazoned above a smaller "unfiltered cigarette" designation printed on the front, placing it on the counter as discretely as he could. A dangerously exasperated Misty whispered to Ash in an attempt to not have the clerk listen in.

"Ash, I can pay for my own things."

"I'm just helping out, it's on me, don't worry"

"That's not the point, It's th- Since when do you smoke?" At the sight of the package, her original edgy irritation took a much darker, accusatory tone at this point.

"Look, I'm not gon-"

"That'll be P46, would you like a receipt?" Ash flipped around from his whispering argument to see a small brown paper bag on the counter. The clerk either hadn't been listening in, or was making an excellent attempt to not seem nosy. Ash pulled a crumpled P50 bill from his pocket and handed it to the man.

"No thanks, have a nice day, keep the change" Ash gave a little wave as he headed for the exit, hoping his words masked his desire to escape the confined space with Misty at the moment. At least in the Vista Cruiser, he could use Brock as an excuse not to talk, but then he couldn't have a cigarette without being accosted. He wasn't even sure why he wanted one so badly; on deeper introspection, he realized they reminded him of home.

Misty was hot on his heels as Ash exited the store, and when he turned around to give her the Cracker Jacks and Coke, she ignored his outstretched hands and pushed her assault, eyes wide in shock and anger, with the slightest bit of worry and hurt escaping from them.

"Ash, what the fuck are you doing with cigarettes? How long have you been smoking?" Misty's questions piqued the interest of Brock, who had been leaning against the car watching traffic go by. Cranking his head around, he strode over to where the two others were standing, half way between the car and building.

"What? Cigarettes?"

"Yeah, apparently Ash wants some lung cancer this summer,"

"Oh, please Misty, just stop"

"This is serious Ash, when did you start?"

"Don't tell me what to do, asshat,"

"Guys, really, it's my choice, I'm an adult, if I wan-"

"You just turned eighteen a few months ago. You've barely be-"

"No Brock, if the idiot _wants_ to throw his life away, we can't stop him."

"Goddamn it, do you dramatize everything _all_ the time, or only when you stick your nose into other people's business, cause I'm already sick of your passive-aggressive bullshit,"

"Guy's stop arguing like this,"

"Oh fuck you! I'm drama? You're the one who entered our lives again, with zero notice, you're the one who dragged us on this trip to God knows where for who knows how long, you're the one who's having a identity crisis, smoking cigarettes and doing whatever the fuck you like. You're not a kid anymore Ash, you have to accept _some _responsibility, _some _consequences. Cause if you think me and Brock are going to babysit your sorry ass this entire trip, you've got another thing comi-"

The glass erupted on the concrete, Coke spraying over Misty's bare legs. Pikachu came running from around the building at the sound to see Ash storming off, tossing the Cracker Jacks in front of him before crushing them with his foot in mid-stride and getting into the Vista Cruiser. Misty looked down at the mess of dark green shards on the pavement, mumbling to herself.

"Oh, real mature Ash," She kicked at the glass shards around her feet as Brock's hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Cut it out," His tone was steady and authoritative. "This isn't the time or place for personal attacks"

"Tell that asshole," Although her eyes were hidden below her bangs, the antipathy in her voice was evident. "Since when does Ash smoke?"

Brock gave an ironic smirk at her reply, one that contained no humor, just a realization of the situation.

"Since when do _you_ swear?"

Misty's green eyes, dark with frustration and hurt, whipped up at Brock, who gestured a small shrug as if to prove a point.

"We've all changed Misty. We're not children anymore,"

He said it, not condescendingly or pretentiously, but matter-of-factly. He vocalized the fear that she had been hiding, which was likely a fear the others held as well. Misty couldn't help tearing up slightly; the whole day had been awful for such an awaited event in her life. Brock took notice to her rare display of raw emotion, placing a large hand on her thin shoulder.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

"He's just so…tactless. More than usual,"

"That was an honest mistake, he didn't know what had happened with your sisters and the Gym Leader posit-"

"No, not just that. Before, in the house, I left him alone in my room to grab some clothes from downstairs, and he was reading my diary when I came back. You know how much that means to me,"

Brock looked down sympathetically at the distraught girl, who was wiping tears from her eyes as if furious at them for showing weakness. Squeezing her shoulder gently, Brock sighed, his voice intervened once more.

"I'll have a talk with him. In the meantime, we should get back out on the road, come on, let's go"

Misty hesitantly followed Brock to the car, and completely forgot about the electric mouse until it jumped into the car right in front of her, before she got in. Ash was silent as they entered, and gave no notice to their entrance. However, when Misty closed her door, he shifted the vehicle into gear, driving forward to enter into the flow of traffic. The music that had been playing from Misty's 8-track had stopped.

With an inward sigh, Misty realized that the worst part of what had just happened had nothing to do with the fight, but was simply the fact that there _was_ a fight. The first real conversation between the three of them in almost eight years had been a fight about cigarettes. Just as that thought crossed her mind, she saw Ash reach into his jacket pocket, pulling out the red pack. Holding the steering wheel steady with his wrists, he tore the cellophane off, opened the box, removed the foil, and put a lone, white cigarette between his lips. Ash could feel everyone's eyes on him as he reached to press in the cars cigarette lighter.

"Not a single word," He stated, slow and enunciated, clicking in the lighter to give his statement finality. He cranked the window down and tossed the trash out onto the road.

Brock turned away to look out at the scenery passing by, and Misty slumped slightly in defeat, sniffling as subtly as she could. Sitting straight in the seat this time, with Pikachu hogging the entire left side of the bench seat, Misty let her head be supported entirely by her hands, propped up by her elbows in her lap. It was only five-thirty on the first day of their trip.

She shut her eyes tight as her stomach rumbled in hungry protest.

* * *

Ash had gained some semblance of control over not only his temper and stress levels, but also the car stereo, after Misty's tirade of 8-track tapes had ended for a little while. The box Oak had left was very large, and Misty still had a gigantic pile to play through. Brock had mentioned that the back of the station wagon could have been put to use storing more pertinent cargo, but Misty argued to keep them inside, her words being something along the lines of "I'm not being stuck in a station wagon for twelve hours a day with you guys and no good music,". After hours of her music, a small but intense verbal fight, and an interjection by Brock, Ash was granted permission to play his music for a while, setting the radio to one of the only frequency that broke through the mountain range they were nearing, an indie station halfway through Pavement's _Summer Babe_. Ash turned his head back around to the fuming Misty in the back seat, too excited with his favorite band being on the radio to realize the orange haired trainer might still be absolutely furious with him.

"Hey Mist, this is Pavement. They're new but I bet you'd like them."

Misty glanced up from her red notebook in obvious, caustically sarcastic false interest. She pulled her bag up from the floor of the car, grabbing both a set of worn over-the-ear headphones that appeared to be as old as she was, and a cassette Walkman. She slipped a cassette into the tray, snapping it closed with purpose. Giving a derisive look Ash's way, she placed the large headphones over her ears, turning away from him to close her eyes and gently nod her head to the music.

Jarred by her complete lack of acknowledgment, Ash returned his eyes to the road. Brock looked up from his book to address the situation.

"You're worse with women than me,"

"Har har. I don't know what's been with her lately,"

"Her? She told me about the journal. What the hell were you thinking?"

"What? She told you? I still don't get why she's making such a big deal, it was because I cared,"

"You staunchly disregarded her privacy, didn't apologize, and frankly, you've started every conflict the two of you have had on this trip so far. And that's only today,"

"You're over-exaggerating,"

"No, I'm really not. I'm guessing that like you did with me, you haven't visited her since the Championship, haven't given her a call, haven't written her a letter. No contact"

"I wrote letters" Hesitating for a second, Ash continued "I just didn't send them"

"That doesn't count. It's not about the actions you do, it's about the actions she perceives, and to be quite honest," Brock paused pensively before his next line. "We're not your friends anymore."

Ash's head swiveled from the road to Brock, double taking as if he was some bright light, his eyes finally settling straight forward again. None of the three had put that into words, but they all knew mutually that it was a statement of fact. Ash was glad Misty was still bopping to her music in the rearview mirror. Brock continued.

"You're eight years behind Ash. Not just in how to communicate with us, but how to communicate with anyone. You left the world so long that you can't just slip back in like it was a coffee break. You try to fake it, I can tell. Your clothes, your mannerisms, hell, even your music," Brock thumbed towards the stereo, where the song had switched over to The Brian Jones Massacre's _Caress_. Ash couldn't form a counterargument, so he let Brock keep speaking.

"You're a façade. People can look at you and see a normal eighteen year old, but you're out of sync with the world, and you're out of sync with us. You're not the same person anymore Ash, and if you think you can just let Misty and I take care of all the loose ends that you have right now, then you're expecting too much out of us,"

"You and her kept in touch?"

"The whole time, calls, visits. You were the outlier Ash."

"Why didn't you call or visit _me_?"

"I didn't know Mt. Silver had telephones."

"Oh, fuck you"

"Look, don't turn this around on me, we went through a lo-"

"You have _no _idea what I went through between the championship and Mt. Silver."

"Ash, more than anyone in the world, I think we knew how you felt, but we were just as stupid and hot-headed as you were. We thought you could handle it by yourself," Brock took a small pause before moving onto his next point.

"We've both grown up Ash, but you're still a kid."

"Brock, you are so far from the truth-"

"I'm just telling you what I see Ash."

Ash didn't reply. Brock was right, but he was wrong. Ash knew he was still a kid in the context of society, but what did that stand for? Who had a right to tell him where he stood in the world. Almost as if he was reading his mind, Brock chimed in one last time.

"You don't have to agree with anything I just said. I doubt you do. But if you want things to be the way they were with us three…" Brock looked out his window at the wilderness around him before turning back to Ash.

"Maybe embrace a little civility,"'

* * *

It wasn't until around eight o'clock that the group stopped for food. Misty was in a dismal mood, amplified by the day's events, Pikachu was irritated, and even Brock had whined a few times, although Ash still seemed determined to pour as many miles on as he could in a day.

"Ash, there's a sign up the road there. If it's a restaurant, and you don't pull this godforsaken heap into the fucking parking lot, you're gonna wish you'd never been born."

"Too late Misty, after this car ride with you, that's the greatest wish I could dream of,"

"You guys, we're all hungry, stop arguing. Your insults aren't even good anymore"

The Vista Cruiser continued full speed ahead.

"Ash, ASH! Pull in"

"Pika Pika!"

"Come on Ash, we're starving,"

Reluctantly, Ash turned off the expressway, a roadside café and gas station greeting them.

"Holy fuck, was that so difficult?"

"Would you just shut your goddamn mou-"

"Both of you cut it out." Brock stepped out of the car, giving a stretch. "I could eat just about anything right now, I'm so hungry."

Misty pretty much sprinted towards the café, Pikachu bounding behind her. Before Ash could follow, Brock held his arm back, checking to make sure that Misty was in the restaurant before continuing.

"What happened to civility?"

Ash glared back, his patience not to be tested at the moment. Brock sighed.

"Come on, let's get some food"

The restaurant was small, more of a diner then a café, as it was advertised on the sign outside. Misty had already gotten them three coffees and menus, the latter of which she and Pikachu were looking through when the guys sat down. Ash looked down at his coffee, mildly disgusted; he had never liked the stuff. Before he could complain, Brock kicked the side of his leg, noticing his face, and hoping to pre-emptively put a stop to anymore arguments between the two. The two on the other side of the table were too absorbed in their menu to notice the warning. Both Ash and Brock ordered hamburgers, while Misty ordered a Denver sandwich. After the waitress took their menus, Misty opened the glass ketchup bottle, passing it to Pikachu, who happily lapped away. Brock shook his head.

"That can't be sanitary"

"It's just Pikachu. He doesn't have anything wierd" Ash defended his lifelong friend, who glanced up from his ketchup bottle briefly to give his trainer a quick look of appreciation.

The time went by slowly, with no one saying anything. Brock was immersed in his book, as he had been the whole trip. Misty held her head up with one hand, pushing her cuticles with her thumb on the other. Ash, on the other hand, was topped with nervous energy, and after a few more minutes of aggravating silence, the dark haired man tried to spark conversation.

"What's a Denver sandwich?" Misty's big blue eyes shot up at Ash, surprised that he would engage in small talk after their whole day of fighting. She sipped on her coffee before replying coldly.

"You've never heard of a Denver sandwich?"

"Well, not only that, but I've never heard of you ordering anything not… leafy"

"I just felt like getting something more substantial, seeing as my last meal is still on the ground outside a gas station."

"It always amazes me how excellent you are at forgiveness,"

"Forgiveness? Why should I forgive you?"

"Maybe for being a huge drama queen on this entire trip,"

"Oh, don't even go there. That was absolu-"

"Hey guys, look, food." Brock motioned to the waitress sheepishly "You guys can't fight over food, right?"

There was no hesitation. Everyone sank into their food, famished. Pikachu sat beside Misty, rhythmically lapping at the ketchup bottle.

* * *

"We're about twenty kilometers to the nearest Pokémon Center. What time is it?"

Brock was surrounded by a cluster of maps, each spread out completely. The correctly named "map" light illuminated his surroundings enough to read the fine print of the multiple maps and guide books he had arranged. Ash eyed the glowing analog clock embedded in the wood panel of the dashboard.

"Uhh, 10:40"

"We can be there and signed in at eleven. They'll probably have a room open; the Indigo Plateau is one of the larger Pokémon Centers in the region." A Pokecenter room was rather undesirable, but it would make due for the first night.

Ash had almost fallen asleep twice in the last few hours, only returning to his senses by Misty and Brock screaming at him, the latter taking hold of the wheel to prevent the station wagon from driving directly into the ditch. Brock had offered to drive, but Ash refused, mumbling something like "I'm not reading those fucking maps,"

The lights from the Indigo Plateau could be seen ten miles out; it was all a matter of staying awake to get there. Ash pulled slowly into the parking lot, finding a spot for the long station wagon. The headlight beams bounced off the adjacent wall as he parked, a bright white glare being created until the light switch was pressed inward, and with a woosh of vacuum tubing, the headlights shut off, followed by the Vista Cruiser itself. Brock began folding up his maps as Ash got out and stretched, closing the door, and in turn shutting off the interior lamp on Brock. Moving down the car a little ways, Ash opened the back door, the interior lighting up again to reveal a sleeping Misty, curled up with Pikachu, her cassette player on the floor of the car, headphones disheveled. Ash leaned in slightly and pressed his fingertips against the smooth, tanned skin on her shoulder.

"Misty? Misty, we're here."

A groan and stretch of the arms accompanied her awakening, sending Pikachu tumbling off of the seat, abruptly waking him up, and causing him to rush out the open door into the parking lot. Ash turned back to Misty to see her sit up and yawn, a tiny squeak emitting itself at the climax of her yawn. She glanced over, her headphones almost completely sideways, hair tousled, but still in her trademark ponytail. Her eyes had a bright, but tired intensity, and she peered up expectantly at Ash who was leaning his arms on the top of the door and the roof, looking in.

"Pokemon Center" Ash said it simply, thumbing out to his side arbitrarily. Misty rubbed the sleep from her face with open palms, nodding in acknowledgment at the same time. Ash turned on his heels to open the back of the station wagon, grabbing what he needed for the night. As he closed the tailgate, backpack in hand, he felt Misty brush by him. Turning to watch her walk, he was surprised to see her turn around completely, shuffling backwards, and give him a small, but sincere smile, eyes bright in the light of a nearby lamppost.

"It's nice to be travelling again,"

In a burst of orange hair, she spun back around and walked off, backpack in hand, Pikachu in tow, before Ash could even reply, speechless at her sudden change in demeanor towards him. The only thing that broke him out of his trance was the clunk of the tailgate as it fell open again behind him, Brock leaning in to grab his own backpack for the night. Just before Brock followed the same path as Misty to the Pokecenter, he Ash his own observation.

"You're lucky she's so fond of you," Brock pulled his backpack up to his shoulder before he continued. "Give her a break sometimes,"

With that, Brock was off into the dark parking lot, disappearing in the shadow between the cones of light shining from the lampposts, leaving Ash behind to lock up the car.

* * *

I apologize for the unprofessional nature of what I'm about to do, but I will be taking a hiatus from updating this story until it's completely written. I'm not one to work chapter by chapter, and at this point I have fragmented scenes spanning from a few chapters ahead to the end complete, in addition to a detailed overall plan. By completing the entirety before posting more, I can ensure artistic unity and an adherrance to the central themes of the story, which are both of paramount importance to me. When I do return, I will continue to update weekly, as I have been. Once again, I apologize.

I hope the infusion of music isn't to jarring to the storytelling so far. Most out of place aspects will have some sort of symbolism to them, including the 8-tracks, cigarettes, the red notebook, Brock's book, Ash's continually changing palete, and the alarm clock with 55:4, among others. If anyone was wondering, this fic takes place sometime in the 90's.

The graph of readers by country is a cool visual, and I'm surprised to see a couple Icelanders reading; I've always wanted to visit, it's a beautiful country.

Thank you to all the readers so far, I hope you're enjoying it. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.


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